


The Unexpected Task

by imostlysleep



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Protective Mycroft, Slow Build, Undercover, Undercover Missions, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imostlysleep/pseuds/imostlysleep
Summary: After screwing up at work yet again, DI Greg Lestrade is put in a difficult situation. Mycroft Holmes has allowed him one last chance to prove his worth at Scotland Yard, however this chance proves to be more dangerous than either of them could have imagined.





	1. Chapter One

"You really are pushing your luck Lestrade," Mycroft shot with a bitter glance. Although this wasn't a new threat for DI Lestrade to hear, he was aware that the consequences may in fact be harsh this time around. Word had gotten around about Sherlock Holmes' involvement in all of his recent cases due to Gregory Lestrade's incompetence each time. It had been 8 months since he was last successful during an investigation by his own hand and now people had lost confidence in his capabilities. Although this time it was different. This time Lestrade had allowed a vital suspect to escape Scotland Yard's custody. Since then the suspect had been untraceable. Not even the famous Consulting Detective had been able to track his whereabouts.

"Take a seat," Holmes commanded.

Lestrade cautiously sat down in the chair before Mycroft's desk, avoiding any eye contact as he desperately thought of any reason he shouldn't be immediately fired on the spot. Even _he_ was beginning to doubt his worth at his current position. It'd been tough for him over the past months. The arguments with his wife made it no easier.

"So, Lestrade. Do tell why not a single case of yours was solved by you in the past eight months, two weeks and fifteen days?"

"Well... Mr. Holmes, sir. I've been under a lot of stress what with-" Greg began nervously before being immediately cut short.

"Yes. Yes," Mycroft drawled, hands resting beneath his chin, "My brother's brilliance with each deduction began to wear you down. This then caused you to make hasty decisions in an attempt to outsmart and beat him to the chase." He proceeded to rest his hands behind his head and recline in his chair, letting out a breath before continuing.

"But alas, you could never match up to a Holmes. Evidently not one of your colleagues either. Ah, but that's when this all _truly_ began to fall apart isn't it. You're wife."

Mycroft's cold eyes bore into Gregory's irritated ones. Lestrade's posture changed as he sat upright and clenched his fists in his lap, outraged before Holmes could even begin to utter his assumptions that were inevitably true.

"She's as upset as you are about the trouble you've caused us. Only you won't admit it. She's embarrassed to even be associated with you anymore, it's made her life a mockery. Do you know what it's like for her? Since Dr. Watson is very keen on detail in his blogs, your antics do tend to crop up more than once each entry. Even her mother has read all about your work. But I suppose it's a similar situation for you, isn't it? Miss Donovan refuses to make you coffee anymore. And as for Mr An-"

"Enough!" Greg snarled. He jolted up from his chair and held a hand to his forehead in frustration. "Just fire me already will you? We all know you're clever so you can stop with your stupid deductions already and just end this now." His fierce eyes pierced Mycroft's amused expression.

"Take a seat Inspector."

Lestrade remained still.

_"Take a seat, Gregory."_

He begrudgingly sat back down.

Mycroft set his hands on his desk and let out a sigh. His posture slacked slightly as he continued, "Are you aware as to why exactly you were hired in the first place Mr. Lestrade?" He glanced questioningly in the inspectors direction.

Greg was baffled. He couldn't understand why this was taking so long or what relevance this even had to the current situation.

"No, sir."

"It's because I personally selected you," Mycroft declared. "You may not remember after current events but you were once the best in your field. You bore a remarkable talent in what you do and I don't believe that's expired as of yet."

"So what your saying is...?" Greg was visibly confused.

"I'm not here to fire you. Not today at least. Although I am unable to permit you to continue in your current position, I do still have use for you." Mycroft was serious now, his expression solemn.

"I have a task at hand that requires a ... _dependable_ individual. Choosing to take up this assignment and returning successful will result in myself personally seeing to it that your dismissal is reconsidered."

Lestrade's eyes widened in hope, he really could get his job back after all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but notice the other man's troubled expression as his brows were furrowed and jaw clenched.

"It's a dangerous task isn't it?" Greg wasn't a fool, he could read the atmosphere.

Mycroft's expression softened slightly as the corner of his mouth developed into a grin.

"Sharp as ever, Mr. Lestrade," he snickered, "but I don't think you quite understand the full weight of this situation. You remember Andrew Devon I presume?"

The Inspector swallowed uncomfortably as the name of the untraceable suspect he allowed to escape was uttered. With his head down is shame he replied stiffly, "Of course, sir."

"Well luckily for you, I have a lead."

Lestrade's head bolted up in shock. Suddenly he was aware of the situation. Mycroft was allowing the man a chance to redeem himself after his greatest downfall. Devon was an unstable man, murdering seven people within a week. This dubbed him the One-a-day killer. Almost as though he wanted a challenge, Andrew Devon maintained a schedule that even Philip Anderson was able to figure out. The same time each day. The same cause of death. The same call to the police reporting the crime. Yet even Sherlock had trouble tracking him down the first time.

With a determined look on his face, Greg had but a single question.

"What do I need to do?"

Holmes was taken aback by the man's sudden determination. He knew he was hardworking, but this task wouldn't be easy. About to question whether the detective was sure, he paused, taking in the man's demeanour. He'd made up his mind.

"To go undercover. Despite it being _your_ fault that he initially escaped, you were never in direct contact with the man. Therefore it is most logical for you to be the person for the job. He's here in London."

He slid a black file across the table before continuing, "All the details can be found in here. I can supply you with money, equipment, and transport but you're on your own from there. A whole new identity has been formulated which will grant you direct contact with Mr. Devon. You start tomorrow 0600 hours."

"Thank you Mycroft," Greg expressed sincerely.

"I wouldn't be too quick to thank me, Mr. Lestrade. You'd almost make me feel guilty," he stated with a smirk.

"I of all people should know that's just not possible, sir." Greg replied, his own face donned a smirk.

"Very well then, get on with it."


	2. Chapter Two

Greg woke up with a throbbing headache. Attempting to go to sleep early had proven more difficult than expected, what with the irregular sleeping schedule his job had given him. Feeling more exhausted than before he went to bed, the inspector stumbled towards the bathroom with a groan.

It was 5:15 when he sat down on his couch, fully dressed and holding a freshly brewed coffee. In the notes Mycroft had given him, a car was said to be arranged to pick him up in 15 minutes outside his flat. Greg picked the file up from his coffee table and skimmed through the pages. His new identity was a rather stark contrast to his own. Robert Wells had been a bodyguard for nearing 28 years, and a good one at that. A no-shit wall of steel that took his job very seriously and never slacked. Way to make him feel pathetic, he wouldn’t be surprised if Mycroft was doing this on purpose. The man had worked for countless big names in the criminal world, he’d almost spat his coffee out when he had read that his previous employer had been none other than Jim Moriarty. Apparently Robert had been specially recommend by the man himself.

What surprised him the most though was the photo on his ID. Greg barely recognised himself staring back at him with a threatening glare, eyes like steel and face just as cold. He hadn’t had time to have a photo taken specifically for this guy so where was this picture actually from? He was wearing a simple white button up shirt so his minimal deduction skills were at a loss. Greg wasn’t even aware that he could look threatening at all. His wife was always calling him a pushover, amongst other things. As thoughts drifted to his wife, their failing marriage and her current residence at her parents house as of Tuesday morning, a car horn brought him back to his senses.

Immediately, he set the folder along with his mug onto the table in front of him and hastily slipped on his shoes and coat. As he opened the door and caught a glimpse of the vehicle, Greg began to wonder if Mycroft was inside. He could count the number of conversations he’d had with the man on one hand, the majority of which involved Sherlock in one way or another. The elder Holmes was still nothing more than a mystery and Greg was convinced it was going to stay that way, knowing the man didn’t even leave a shadow wherever he tread.

The car door opened with a click as the woman Greg knew to be Mycroft’s assistant stepped out, phone still in hand. She briefly glanced up, signalling him to get a move on. Without a second thought, Lestrade slipped into the back of the vehicle with the door swiftly shutting behind him. He was disappointed to find that he was now alone in the back, no Mycroft in sight. Sighing, he fastened his seatbelt and slumped back in the seat. Anthea was now residing in the front beside the driver typing away on her mobile, presumably notifying Mycroft that he hadn’t done a runner.

“So where are we going?” Greg’s voice was hesitant, not sure if he was permitted to speak.

There were a few moments of awkward silence that felt like hours to Greg.

“Mr. Holmes had expected your attire to be rather lacking, so consider this your princess movie makeover,” Anthea replied coolly, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Great,” Greg huffed. The bags under his tired eyes weren’t very princess-like, but then neither was a criminal’s bodyguard.

It didn’t take them long to reach their first destination. It looked to be an office building, standing tall amongst the others. Greg stiffly followed Anthea inside, observing his surroundings as they went. It was a very spacious building with scarcely any decoration save for a few framed paintings that hung from the white walls. They were in the lift before either of them spoke a word.

“I hope you know the importance of this, Mr. Lestrade,” she warned, “Although I trust Mr. Holmes with my life, I’m yet to fathom why he selected _you_ of all people.”

Greg shuffled uncomfortably, he was as sceptical as her.

“My charming wit?” he suggested with light smirk, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

Anthea merely rolled her eyes as she pressed the button for the top floor, crossing her arms.

“Do _try_ to act serious around Mr. Holmes. I certainly don’t care enough to stop him skinning you alive out of frustration.”

“Noted,” he reassured with a weary gaze as the lift stopped and doors opened.

The offices on the floor were almost all empty, save for the odd balding man in a suit worth four times Greg’s weekly salary. He was ushered into a large office at the end of the corridor, presumably Mycroft’s. Anthea swiftly knocked before shoving Greg through the doorway.

Before him, Mycroft sat at his large desk which was unexpectedly more untidy than Greg had envisioned. Heaps of papers lay across it’s surface as a displeased Mycroft shuffled through them. His eyes met Lestrade’s for a split second before he sighed and set them down. He rose from his chair, wandering across the room to retrieve a black suit bag that was hanging on the far wall.

“I do trust that you are able to make yourself at least somewhat presentable when effort is applied,” the man remarked as he took it down and approached the inspector. Greg didn’t know whether to be amused or furious. He sincerely hoped that he was joking but all signs indicated that the man really thought his regular appearance was unsightly.

“That certainly is an optimistic approach,” he remarked with hope of lightening the current mood of the room.

Mycroft’s face softened slightly as he handed over the bag.

“The office next door remains unused, try to be prompt since we do have a schedule to follow.”

“So I came all the way here just for you to hand me a bag that you could’ve just delivered to my flat?” Greg questioned, thinking about the extra time he could have spent in bed.

“If I were not there to oversee, I dread to think of the chaos that would ensue. A mere second would pass before one of Devon’s men noticed your stubble along with that ridiculously crumpled shirt of yours and deemed you not to be the professional that you claimed. I merely feared I’d be on the search for a new inspector,” he explained with a growing smirk.

“Suppose you brought a shaver too then?” Greg muttered.

The taller man motioned to his assistant before she immediately brought a small toiletry bag over. Greg seized it and traipsed into the other office without saying a word, knowing Mycroft was right.

It look the inspector a little over fifteen minutes to get changed and then shave in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror properly for the first time, he was shocked by his appearance. His crumpled shirt had been swapped out for a brand new one, fresh off the press and gleamingly white, now joined with a sleek black tie. His trousers fit him astonishingly well, as though they were tailored specifically for him. The old tattered coat that his wife had bought him not long after they had gotten married now lay on the floor in a heap, a black bomber jacket took its place. As much as Lestrade wanted to deny it, he looked good.

Looking back at his crumpled clothes on the floor, he realised how little effort he actually put into his appearance.

“No wonder Joanne left me,” he mumbled despairingly.

Arriving back in Mycroft’s office, he found the man pacing the room. It was evident he was furious. He was retorting back into the phone, seething as he spoke. Greg had no idea what he was talking about but had enough sense to stay out of it.

It wasn’t until Mycroft turned sharply towards his computer that he noticed the other man’s presence. His eyes travelled up his body before they locked eyes.

“Don’t bother calling back,” Holmes deadpanned before hanging up.

Greg felt incredibly self-conscious under Mycroft’s gaze. His fingers fumbled with the end of his sleeve as he waited for him to speak. Holmes’ face was blank, many thoughts undoubtedly running through his mind as he processed his appearance.

“Is it bad?” Greg finally spoke up, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Mycroft hesitated for a second, seemingly distracted before he replied smoothly.

“You definitely fit the part.”

“So you think this will work?” Greg wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but he couldn’t help but find himself asking.

“It _has _to work, Inspector. We may never get this chance again so I assure you my team are prepared. Although I am apprehensive that your current nervous demeanour is going to waste all of our effort,” Mycroft commented in a serious tone.

“I’m kinda finding it to be somewhat of a difficult situation to relax in, as I’m sure most people would.”

The taller man tilted his head slightly as he looked at the uncomfortable man stood before him. “I do have in mind an approach to getting you in character, but forgive me, Mr. Lestrade, I fear you may not like what you will hear.”

Greg doubted than anything this man could say could make his day any worse than it already was going to be, so he was quick to reply.

“I’m a big boy, sir, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Holmes looked at him apologetically before it shifted into a stern façade. He crossed his arms over his chest as he inhaled sharply.

“Your wife, Joanne Lestrade.”

As soon as Greg heard that name his heart dropped. His day was definitely about to get a whole lot worse.

“You discovered she was pregnant no more than two weeks ago, correct? You are _not_ the father, Greg. It’s your brother’s.”

Lestrade’s mind went into meltdown before completely shutting down. This information simply didn’t compute. He had just visited his brother last weekend for his niece’s birthday. His wife never tended to even get on with his family, never mind-

Greg merely stood there in silence, expression completely void of emotion as he stared up at Mycroft. He knew the man had no reason to lie about something like that, there were many other factual things that would’ve enraged him.

“That was not exactly the reaction that I was going for,” Mycroft replied carefully, uncomfortable that he had potentially just ruined Greg’s life for no reason, “but I suppose stoic works just as well if not better.”

Mycroft’s eyes shifted as he processed Greg’s reaction, or rather lack thereof.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with concern, he'd vastly miscalculated this approach.

Greg placed his hand gently onto Mycroft's arm, not quite paying attention to the words that came out of the other man’s mouth.

“Thanks,” was all he said before following Anthea to the car. Warning signs blared in Mycroft’s mind as he realised Greg’s rational thinking was compromised. Nevertheless he chose to ignore them for the time being. The mission had to go ahead, despite Mycroft of all people managing to make it a whole lot more challenging.

Greg's reaction bothered him more than he realised.


End file.
